


Thirty-nine and a Half-foot Pole

by PastelWonder



Series: Return To Me [8]
Category: Blitz (2011), Spy (2015)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Er... well as fluffy as it gets with Tom..., F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-06 01:33:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5397887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelWonder/pseuds/PastelWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Susan makes a deal with Tom for the Christmas tree of her dreams.</p><p>But our favorite Grinch is a clever crocodile...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Was feeling a little festive, and I missed our favorite Mrs. Clause and Grinch.

“Jaysus wept, Suzy - just pick one, alright?”

“Tom,” Susan didn’t look up at him from where she was examining the branches of a particularly lush Fraiser Fir. “You’re being a real Negative Nancy right now-”

_Hmm. No, too short._

“I told you,” he growled in a warning tone, “ _not_ to call me nancy-”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s an expression, sweetie.”

She moved down the line of trees.

“Susan, I’m freezin’ my bollocks off.” He waved his hand around the lot. “They’re all the bloody same. Pick one.”

“Are you hungry?” she asked lightly, inspecting a taller tree next to the one she’d just looked at.

_This could work._

“What?”

She spared him a glance. “Honey, you’re grouchy. When was the last time you ate?” She opened her purse, holding it a little higher in the dim light as she pawed through it. “I think I have… a granola bar…”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. “Not even fuckin' listenin’...”

“No no, I hear you. I’m just ignoring- Ha!” She held up the bar with a triumphant dimpled smile. “Here, baby.”

She wiggled it a little when he didn’t take it. He scowled, snatching it out of her hand.

 

He ripped the wrapping off with his teeth, spitting the foil onto the hay-covered dirt lot.

She watched the wrapper flutter to the ground with a disapproving look, but said nothing. She moved down the line of trees, looking for-

“Oh. Oh my.”

There at the end, a beautiful flocked Silver Fir.

_Perfect._

She was already picturing her grandmother’s little glass German ornaments on it as she stepped up to inspect the branches.

“This is… this is perfect.”

She turned to Tom, eyes shining and a hand on her swollen belly. “This is the one.”

They’d put it beside the fireplace, on the left - no, the right side, so they could see it first thing when they walked in the front door. Sitting together on the sofa, sipping hot cocoa in the warm glow of the fire and the twinkling white lights. Opening presents Christmas morning, the sounds of wrapping paper tearing and the jingling of stockings as they-

“No.”

_No?_ Susan blinked. “No?”

Tom’s mouth was pressed into a thin line, his brow furrowed. The tree’s price tag was in one hand, the other hand was propped on his hip. He shook his head. “No.”

Susan cocked her head. “No… what?”

“ _No_ we’re not buyin’ this tree, Susan.”

“Wha-” She shook her head as visions of her warm, happy holiday dissolved into a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Why not?”

He held up the price tag. “Look at this - thing’s a hundred and thir’y pounds. What do I look like, some kinda moron? Not payin’ that much for a fuckin’ tree - things already dead.” He snorted.

She took a deep breath. _Be calm, Susan. You can handle this_.

 

In her best, _Darling-be-reasonable_ tone, she said, “Tom, honey, this is the tree I want.”

_End of story. Case closed. Finito._

He took a step closer; she could make out the granola crumbs sticking to the corner of his mouth as he said firmly, with authority, “Pick a different one.”

She snorted softly. _You’ve got to be kidding me._

“Look, Colonel Custer - I think we’re having a communication problem.” She waved her hand back and forth between them. “I said I wanted this tree-” she pointed to the tree, “and you said we aren’t getting this tree.” She held her hands up in front of her, fingertips nearly touching with an inch or so between them. “See the gap?”

“ _You_ look, sweet’eart. I’m only goin’ to say this one more time. Pick. A different. Tree.”

She studied him for a minute, seeing his self-satisfied expression at her silence, and then sighed. “Oh well.” She shrugged. “I’m sure we’ll find something else.”

He slipped his hands into his jacket pockets, nodding smugly.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” she scoffed at herself, shaking her head with a little self-deprecating smile. “I mean, there’s no way you could talk them down.”

She cradled her belly with one arm, holding out her other hand to brush the tree branches gently as they started down the next row.

_One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three-_

“What’s that?”

She twitched her lips to hide her grin, then looked over her shoulder at where he was standing at the end of the row. He had a black look, eyes narrowed dangerously at her.

“What’s what, honey?” she asked sweetly. “Did you find a tree you liked?”

He sneered at the suggestion. “You know what I meant - what were you sayin’, bout not bein’ able to talk them down?”

She shrugged carelessly as she absently fingered a Douglas Fir. “Well, it's just... I know you’re a great negotiator when you’re bargaining with someone who has a rap sheet-”

“They all ‘ave rap sheets. Maybe not in the literal sense, but everyone ‘as-”

“-or when someone _owes you a favor_ ,” she made air quotes. “But this kind of haggling is… not really your strong suite.”

“Ah. S’that right?” He sidled up to her, expression darkening as his sneer took on a sharp-toothed edge.

She tried to ignore the hot dip in her low belly, and the way his jacket pulled taut across his shoulders as he stopped, hands in his pockets and elbows out, less than a foot from her.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Tom,” she assured him, hoping he didn’t notice the slight catch in her voice or the way her cheeks flushed. “We all have strengths and weaknesses.”

“Only weakness I ‘ave,” he rumbled, bending his head until they were eye level, his face inches from hers, “is my connivin’ li’le wife. I know what you’re up to, Susan.”

“Oh, sweetie.” She made a compassionate face, _There-there._ “Whether I’m up to anything or not, the fact is: you can’t get that tree for cheaper.” She looked up at the lot’s check-out stand, a bright red stall with a cheery elderly couple behind the cash register. “This just isn’t your scene, Tom.”

He glanced with her, over his shoulder, frowning as he spotted the stand.

“Oh, I know!” She patted his chest. “Maybe your friend - the grocer - has a fern you can pound out of him. Ooo, or some poinsettias! We’ll sprinkle a little glitter on them, set them on the dining room table. I'm sure he owes you at least one other favor. Or - what about the Chinese restaurant supplier! Who needs a tree when you can decorate a lucky bamboo?”

"You're a real comedian, you know that?"

 

"Aw, honey - isn't laughter what keeps our relationship alive? You laughing at me..." She traced her fingertip down the length of his jacket zipper. "Me laughing at you..."

 

He snorted, watching her face for a beat before he asked, “I get you that tree, what do I get?”

_Ah, yes. Predictable as ever._

Her eyes darted to his mouth and back. “What do you want?”

He gave her a predatory smirk. “Yah know what I want.”

She jerked back a little as her asscheeks clenched on reflex, holding a hand up between them. “No - no way, Jose.”

“Fine.” He shrugged good-naturedly. “What’s it to me? Don’t want a tree, do I?”

_Dang it._

She chewed her lip.

Visions of a white Christmas glimmered in the distance. She’d just have to…

Her stomach rolled.

He waited patiently as she shifted foot-to-foot.

“You’ll buy the tree?” she asked, watching him suspiciously from under her bangs. “You’ll really buy it?”

“Yes.” She didn’t miss the way his eyes darkened and narrowed, or the way they swept over her. “I’ll really buy it.”

“And you won’t return it?”

He smirked at that. “No, I won’t.”

She wrung her hands lightly. God, was she really considering this? “And you’ll get it into the house, no whining, no bellyaching?”

He was grinning now as he stepped up to close the gap between them, hands sliding around her waist to grip the swell of her ass. “I’ll do anythin’ yah want, sweet’eart. Buy it, carry it, burn it-”

“Don’t you dare-”

“Anythin’ you want. S’long as we ‘ave a deal.”

Her heart knocked against her ribcage. It was ridiculous that after all this time, he still intimidated her.

She tried to picture the way he was last New Year's Eve, drunk and sitting on the bathroom floor, arms tangled in his sweater above his head as he called pitifully for her to help him. Anything to squash the niggling tickle in her belly as she tilted her chin and demanded, “Shake on it.”

Without stepping back, he took her hand in his, lifting it to his lips and dropping a soft kiss on her knuckles.

Her lashes fluttered slightly. “That’s- not a handshake-”

“Go wait in the car.”

She swayed a little at the command in his voice. _Freaking hormones._

 

He choked up his grip on her, face softening as he chided, "Steady on."

 

“I mean it, Tom," it came out more breathless than menacing as he flexed his biceps under her hands. "If you try to trick me-”

He looked down between them, where her tits were pressed against his chest, and gave her a roguish grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She huffed, trying not to flinch when she shifted and felt her panties were soaked.

_Great._

____________________________________________________________________________

Twenty minutes later, the tree was wrapped in burlap and tied snugly to the roof of her Mercedes.

Tom climbed into the front passenger seat wearing a shit-eating grin. He cupped his hands around his mouth and puffed, rubbing them together for warmth as she put the gear in Reverse.

“So?” She glanced over her shoulder and checked her mirrors.

“So what?”

She gave him a sidelong look. “How much did you pay?”

He shrugged. “Couple a’bobs.”

She stopped at the road, looking left-and-right for oncoming cars. “How much?”

“‘undred and thir’y.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She asked a flat, “What?”

“You ‘eard me.” He was smiling like a lunatic now; she’d think it was sweet to see him so happy if she wasn’t sick to her stomach.

She threw the car in Park. “You son of a-”

“Ah-ah, we talked about name-callin’. Said we were gonna get outta the ‘abit before-” He glanced in mock-reproach at her belly.

“You did _not_ pay sticker price just so you could-could…” She couldn't bring herself to say it.

He gave her a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. "Worth every penny."

She fought down the urge to retch. “ _You-_ tricked me.”

“Yep.” _And I’m quite pleased with myself_ , his smug tone said.

“Wha- how- you-” She stared at the steering wheel. He had played her, perfectly. She would never have considered doing  _that_ if he hadn’t…

Someone honked behind them.

“Bettah jog on.” He nodded at the road. “You’re blockin’ the exit.”

_Un-freaking-believable._

She wrenched the gear wordlessly into drive, mouth pressed into a tight line as she stomped on the gas and peeled out of the parking lot.

“Don’t be cross, sweet’eart,” he soothed in a tone not unlike the one she used on him earlier. “Manipulatin’ just isn’t your strong suite.”

She glanced in her rear-view mirror, at the Christmas tree lot with its strands of twinkle lights strung between the trees, and her face softened as she realized her mistake.

_Rick._

 

Rick was so dumb. Sweet, gentle, fearless. And so, so dumb.

 

The truth was simple: sometimes she couldn't keep them straight. Sometimes, she forgot Tom was... Tom. She'd fallen for his blue-collar-ruffian act, and not for the first time.

 

_You made your bed, Susan Marie Brant._

She sighed. “You’re pret-ty easy to underestimate, you know that mister?”

“Nah.” He gave her thigh a hearty _pat-pat_. “Wasn’t your scene, s’all.”

 

"Ha! Zinger." She smiled in spite of herself. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad-

 

Her stomach rolled again. She tittered nervously.

 

_Maybe don't think about it._

Suddenly, he added, “Too bad you’ll be a sore loser.”

She jerked with a startled, “Tom!”

 ****  
“Sorry - couldn’t ‘elp it.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Whoa, no! No no no!” Susan stuck her hand out, _Stop!_

“For Christ’s sake, Susan, would you belt up a minute?” he snapped, pausing and tilting his head to blink the sweat out of his eyes.

“ _I am telling you_ ,” she growled back, wincing as he made another attempt, “it’s not going to fit.”

“Yes, it will,” he grunted through gritted teeth. He ignored her as she sucked her tongue and cringed again. “Just a couple more inches…”

“Tom!” she shrieked, feeling like she was going to tear her hair out if he didn’t stop. “Please stop - it’s too big!”

“Hush!” He gave her a sharp look. “Damnit, Susan, lie back and relax. I’ll never get it in with you screamin’ like a banshee-”

“I am not screaming, you are so dramatic-”

“Just need...to try...a different...angle… son of a bitch!” He choked up his grip on the tree trunk, and with a soft rustle of branches and a growl from Tom, the Christmas tree squeezed through the front door.

He stood it upright, holding it steady by the trunk with one hand and propping the other on his hip as he caught his breath.

“What’d I tell yah?” he huffed gloatingly. He raised his arm to wipe the sweat off his brow, the fabric of his tee shirt pulling taut across his broad, muscular chest.

Susan was kneeling on the couch, her belly pressed into the back cushion and her arms crossed on top of the backrest. From where she was sitting, she could make out the heavy rise and fall of his chest, and the span of his huge hand around the trunk of the tree.

She cleared her throat, trying not to stare at the damp spot in the center of his chest as she huffed, “What about the doorway?”

“What about it?” he snapped, face scrunching in irritation. He looked over his shoulder and around the tree’s girth to inspect the doorjamb and the threshold before telling her smugly, “Not a scratch.”

He gave her a look, _Come on, admit it._

She rolled her eyes. “Ok, hotshot. That was pretty impressive.”

He smirked. “Where you want it, then?”

She turned, using the sofa arm for leverage as she worked her feet out from under her and pulled herself to standing. Skirting carefully around the coffee table, she waddled to a spot by the fireplace. “Right here, please.”

 

He nodded, pressing his lips together in a thin line as he lifted the tree with a grunt. The muscles in his arms and back flex powerfully as he maneuvered the tree behind the sofa and around the armchair.

 

_Good golly, Miss Molly._

“Do you want me to-”

“No, I don’t,” he grunted, motioning for her to move out of his way with a sideways jerk of his head.

She shuffled aside.

“Here?” he asked her, adjusting his grip. His jaw was tensed, veins in his forearms pronounced.

She nodded, tongue darting out to wet her lips as he set the tree down with a soft _thunk_.

He crouched, one hand still wrapped around the trunk to keep the tree from tipping over, and unfolded the legs of the tree stand.

“S’it straight?” he called to her over his shoulder.

Susan blinked, tearing her eyes away from where his ass was straining against the seat of his jeans. “Hm what?”

_Caught yah_ , his cocky grin said. “Is it straight?” he annunciated slowly.

“Oh! Hm, yes. It’s straight - perfect. Perfectly straight.”

He nodded to himself, swatting aside the lower branches and cursing as he looked for the key to tighten the stand. When he was convinced the tree was stable, he stood, knees popping, and gave her a long up-and-down look.

“Like that?” he asked, lowering the timber of his voice and propping his hands on his hips.

He was so broad.

“Yes,” she said softly, giving him a shy smile. She suddenly remembered their deal from earlier. Her stomach dipped.

_Son of a bee sting._

His dark eyes glinted in the lamplight. “Well? Come ‘ere an’ give us a kiss, then.”

She smoothed a hand over her belly as she sidled up to him. As soon as she was within grabbing distance, he took her by the hips and tugged her the rest of the way, smirking at her soft, “Umph” when her belly bumped into his abs.

She settled her hands on his chest, feeling the damp fabric of his tee shirt and his strong heartbeat beneath it.

He stroked one hand through her long, dark hair and the other over her ass. “‘appy?”

“As a clam.” She smiled, then wrinkled her nose as she suddenly noticed the beads of sweat on his head and neck. “Ugh! You’re all wet.”

He snorted. “So are you, I’d wager.”

“Oh for Pete’s sake.” She made a half-hearted attempt to wriggle out of his grip. “Get over yourself.”

He squeezed a soft mewling sound out of her as he cinched his arms around her waist. “‘old on, ‘old on. Where yah goin’?”

“Tom…” She squirmed a little more, pretending to push at his biceps as she pressed herself tighter against him. His hard-on dug into her stomach. “Let go of me - you’re getting sweat in my hair.”

“What an ungrateful li’le thing you are-” he chided, eyes on her mouth.

She gave him her prettiest pout as she continued to mock-struggle. “Just because I don’t want my blowout to smell like _eau de_ lumberjack-”

“-can see I’ve spared the rod too much with you.” He ratcheted up his grip and dipped his head to kiss her.

“Puh-lease!” She leaned away playfully, biting her cheeks to hide a smile as she crowed, “When have you _ever_ -”

He gave her ass a sharp slap, the corners of his mouth curling upward at the hitch in her breath. “‘old still, I said.”

Warmth trickled through her, pooling low in her belly. Her lashes fluttered involuntarily.

_Gosh dangit._

“You-you are such a bully!”

He threaded his fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck and tugged gently. “Tell me yah don’t like it.”

“I-I- Oh, go to hell, Tom.” She pushed up onto the balls of her feet and caught his bottom lip between hers.

He made an appreciative noise as she nipped him lightly, his large, strong hands sliding up her waist to cup her breasts. He squeezed.

“Mm-mm.” She melted into his touch, head swimming a little as all of her weight suddenly shifted forward, past her center of gravity and she overbalanced.  

_Oh snap._

Her hands clapped onto his upper arms and her eyes clenched shut as she braced herself, expecting to knock him backwards and take them both down to the floor.

Instead, he locked his knees and caught her, grinning against her mouth. “Stead-y.”

She peddled her feet in a panic, trying to get them back under her. It was like her brain and her legs wouldn’t communicate. “Jiminy Christmas, not again-”

“I gottcha.”

“These freaking pregnancy swoons,” she breathed, squeezing his arms as her vision blurred and her legs turned to jelly. Her fingers twined in the sleeves of his tee shirt. “Tom-”

“I said I’ve got yah.” The edges of his tone softened as he told her, “Relax, it’ll pass.”

 

Slowly, she let her body go slack, resting her cheek on his chest as she settled into his arms. He took her weight easily, with a quiet, “That’s it. Breathe.”

She blew out a long breath.

_He’s got me._

She stayed tucked in against him until the dizzy spell passed, letting him sway them gently side-to-side as he stroked his fingers through the ends of her hair and rubbed circles into the small of her back. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the scent of sweat and pine and cigarettes. “I love you so much.”

There was a short pause - _always a pause_ \- and then a murmured, “Love you, Suzy. Yah know I do.”

Her arms wound their way around his neck as bowed his head to kiss her. His tongue stroked into her mouth, sweeping over the flat of hers, their lips making soft sounds as they kissed.

The baby shifted forward in her womb, pushing a tiny foot into her belly. She smiled, reaching around behind her to take Tom’s wrist in her hand as their lips pulled apart with a soft _smooch_.

“Put your hand right here,” she whispered.

He pressed his large hand over her belly. Over their baby.

“Can you feel it?”

He concentrated for a moment, and then his face softened and his chest swelled with pride. “‘e’s a strong one, innit ‘e? Make a great center charge.” He jiggled her belly gently. “Won’t yah, boy?”

She snorted softly. “You’re a mess.”

“I’m your mess, darlin’.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me-”

“And speakin’ of, you puttin’ lights and shit on this thing tonight, or what?”

It took her a second to realize he meant the tree. She shook her head. “Too tired. I’ll do it tomorrow. Oh, that reminds me! Will you get the ornaments out of the garage for me? They’re on my side, behind the camping gear.”

“Yeah, alright. Where you want ‘em?”

“Next to the tree.” She stretched up, careful to keep her balance, and kissed the underside of his jaw. “Thank you, baby.”

She took in the sight of the tree by the fireplace. Even unlit, it was beautiful. She smiled. “Merry Christmas.”

He gave her an amused look. _Women_ , it said. “‘appy Christmas. ‘ope it’s worth it to yah.”

Their deal. Heat zinged through her belly.

_Oh boy._

“So,” she hedged, glancing up at him through her lashes. Why did he suddenly seem taller? “Do you... want to do this thing now, or…”

He grinned, a sharp-toothed smile he rarely used on her.

“No, I don’t think so,” he drawled, stroking a hand through her hair. “I think we’ll wait - make a day of it.”

“Oh, hm.” She tried not to cringe. _Lucky me_. “That’s- that sounds great.”

He pinched her chin, tipping her face up to catch the light with her eyes. “Nervous?”

“Please,” she scoffed, forcing herself to look him in the eye. “You don’t scare me.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Good.”

He pressed a firm kiss to her lips before he let her go. “Goin’ out for a smoke.”

She caught him by a handful of his shirt collar as he turned, feeling the slick between her legs as her weight shifted from one foot to the other. “Hey.”

He jutted his chin at her, _What?_

“Come tuck me in when you’re finished, kay?”

It wasn’t really a request.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he promised darkly.

“Don’t forget the ornaments,” she reminded him, a hand on her belly as she watched him slip into his leather jacket.

“Yeah yeah.” He gave her a long up-and-down look, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue and tucking a cigarette between them. “I won’t.”

He whistled for Dodger, waiting for the dog to slink out the front door for his last potty break of the night before he closed it behind him.

Susan paused by the tree on her way to their bedroom, fingering a flocked branch as she sighed.

____________________________________________________________________________

“Oh my God, Susan are you _insane_?!” Nancy shrilled.

“Gah - Nancy, my ear!” Susan winced, shifting the phone to her other ear. Suddenly mortified, she insisted, “It’s- it’s a really beautiful tree…”

Nancy snorted. “For that, it better fold laundry and sing _Silent Night_.”

“Nancy,” Susan growled. “Not helping.”

“Right, sorry. Helping, I’m helping. Tell me again how - exactly - you fell for that?”

Susan sighed, tucking the phone between her cheek and shoulder as she scouted for the perfect spot for the ornament in her hand. “You know he’s been trying to get me to do… _that_ for forever. I mean, I was bound to make a mistake sooner or later. Right?”

She chewed her lip.

“Hmm.” Nancy paused, and then in a brighter tone, as if an idea had suddenly occurred to her, she asked, “Have you ever-?”

Susan jerked a little, startled. The ornament in her hand clinked lightly against a tree branch.

“No! Nancy-” She made a _come-on_ face, even though Nancy was three thousand miles away. “Who in the world would I have done that with?”

Jerry? Get real.

And it had never come up with-

“Mm-hm.” Nancy was already forming a theory as she asked, “And did you tell him that?”

“Who, Tom?” She took Nancy’s silence as a _yes_. “Wha-I- yes.”

Susan looped the ornament hook around a branch, adding defensively, “Only because he asked me about a bajillion times.”

She stepped back to check the ornament’s position. Satisfied, she plucked another out of the crate.

“Well, that’s it then, isn’t it!” _Case closed_ , Nancy’s tone said.

Susan’s brow furrowed. “What’s it?”

Nancy scoffed lightly. “Don’t you see? It’s your _first time_. Of course he wants to… do it.”

It was Susan’s turn to scoff. “That’s ridiculous. Tom is- that wouldn’t matter to him.”

“Believe me,” Nancy said with authority. “It matters.”

“Are you sure it’s not just because he’s, you know, Tom? I mean, the man is into a lot of… stuff.”

“Ooo, like what?” Nancy asked eagerly, distracted from her point.

Susan hesitated, not sure if she wanted to tell Nancy that the nights she slept the soundest were the ones Tom pounded her into the mattress until she came so hard she saw lights behind her eyelids. Or that the only time she felt that sweet sensation of floating was when his hand was fisted in her hair and he was snarling at her to take it.

“It’s… complicated,” she hedged, blushing and smoothing a hand over her hip, where she knew his fingertip marks would still be from last night. “He- I- _we_ like it… a little…rough.”

At Nancy’s incredulous silence, Susan admitted in a much smaller voice, “Ok, we like it a lot rough.”

“Well, that’s hardly a surprise, is it?”

“Really?” Susan looped the ornament hook around another branch. “You don’t think it’s - I don’t know - inappropriate?”

“Susan.” Her chest panged at the softness in Nancy’s voice. “Why on Earth would that be inappropriate? He’s your _husband_. You _love_ each other.”

She let out a long exhale through her nose. “I know. Sometimes, I still hear my mom’s voice in my head: _The only good ho is a homemaker, Susan. Men like a lady in the parlor and a saint in the bedroom, Susan_.”

“Yes, you do know the phrase is, _A lady in the parlor and a prostitute in the bedroom_?" Nancy reminded her in a tone that said, _God, I hate your mother_. "Sex is meant to be exciting - it’s an adventure-”

A vivid memory of Tom on his knees in front of her, wearing nothing but an enormous spiked leather collar and a sneer as she tugged his leash and scolded him, _Bad dog!_ popped into her head.

_Was that last week?_

She suddenly remembered the cowgirl hat and beaded suede fringed vest. One of her hands up in the air and the other tucked under the belt around his bare waist, trilling, “Yee-haw!” at the top of her lungs and trying desperately not to lose her balance as he bucked.

_Nope, week-before-last._

“-and frankly,” Nancy was saying, “I wouldn’t expect anything less from Tom.”

Susan winced. “Is it that obvious?”

“That’s really besides the point, Susan. And yes, it is.” Nancy took a deep breath, _Let’s get serious_. “Look, this whole trip-round-the-bend is all about the allure of being your first-”

Susan snorted softly.

“-and you’re only. It’s something you haven’t done with anyone else.”

“Wha-what does that even mean? I haven’t done _most_ of the things I’ve done with him with anyone else!”

“Susan-”

“I mean, do you have any _idea_ how much detergent it takes to get axle grease and maraschino cherry juice out of cotton sheets?”

“Sue-san-”

“Or how many times I’ve had to get the backseat of his Buick detailed in the last _month_? And I don’t think I even _have_ a gag reflex anymore-”

“Susan!”

“What?” she huffed.

“Men like to plant a flag. To feel like they’ve - I don’t know - conquered something. Something no one else has ever conquered before, blah blah blah. It has to be doubly so for Tom.”

“Because he’s Tom?”

“Because he’s not Rick.”

Something cold slipped through Susan’s gut.

“Think about it,” Nancy said softly.

She didn’t want to think about it.

_Susan, my darlin’-_

She squeezed her eyes shut until the image of him, wearing a sharp suit and dark turtleneck, smiling before he kissed her, faded. _No._

“No.”

“Susan-”

Tom, braced over her, panting as he stroked into her over and over. Watching her with dark eyes as she touched his face, his neck, whispering to him, _Rick. I love you, Rick. Please, Rick, please. I love you so much-_

His face - Tom’s face - devastated. Every time she-

Her chest tightened. “No. No, Nancy.”

“Susan, sweetie - I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you-”

“Nancy, I just can’t. I have to go.”

“Wait! Susan-”

Her breath caught in her throat as she hit the Call End button and dropped the phone. It fell to the carpet with a dull _thud_ and bounced under the coffee table.

Dodger looked up at her from his bed beside the sofa.

Her hands shook as she pressed them into her eyes.

Tom’s face. _Susan, I’m beggin’ you-_

“Stop! Stop stop stop!” she shouted.

She took long sips of air, concentrating on the green-black static behind her eyelids until the panic started to subside.

The baby shifted, pressing into her side.

She laid her hand over the spot and bit her lips together to stifle a sob.

_Tom._

“I need Tom,” she told Dodger.

He stood, body tense and tail swishing slowly side-to-side as he watched her for a command.

“Where’s Daddy? Huh, Dodge? Let’s go find Daddy!” she sang, trying to sound upbeat. She sniffled a little as she waddled around the couch.

 

Dodger followed, whining low in his throat and nosing her belly gently when she stopped beside the door.

"You're ok - everything's ok," she cooed quietly to herself. "Keep it together, Susan. Just find Tom. Everything's ok. Find Tom."

“Come on, Dodger!” Her smile wobbled as she took his leash and her purse off their hooks. “Let’s go find Daddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to branch out and write... the specifics, and *this* is what came out. Ugh.
> 
> *Next* chapter, I promise.
> 
> I am such an avoider *Hound and the Hen* *cough* *cough*


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, four chapters. I lied. Sue me.
> 
> Kidding. Please don't sue me.

The drive to the station helped calm her nerves a little. She blasted Cyndi Lauper while Dodger sat in the back with his front paws on the console and his snout on her shoulder, his cold wet nose snuffling in her ear at every stoplight.

 

“Momma’s ok, big boy,” she promised, reaching up to run her fingers through his long mane. By the time she’d parallel parked beside the station, her hands had stopped shaking.

 

As she glanced up at the building through her windshield, an entirely different problem dawned on her.

 

Tom was going to be furious.

 

A vivid memory from the last time she visited him at work unannounced flashed through her mind.

 

“This was a bad idea,” she told Dodger, twisting around in her seat.

 

He licked his chops and whined.

 

She rubbed the spot between his ears, trying to ignore the ache in her breast as she chirped, “Let’s go home and not tell Daddy about this, ok Dodge?”

 

The anxious tickle in her gut kicked up again at the thought of going home alone. She rubbed her swollen belly.

 

Maybe if she drove around a little longer-

 

Suddenly, there was a _tap-tap-tap_ on her driverside window. Dodger growled.

 

_Who in the heck?_

 

Susan turned and came nose-to-nose through the glass with Sergeant McPhee.

 

“‘lo there, darlin’!”

 

_Christmas on a cracker._

 

He grinned and made a _come-on-then_ motion.

 

“The jig is up,” she told Dodger miserably as she cut the engine and unbuckled her seatbelt.

 

Sergeant McPhee opened her door and offered her a massive hand. “Well, bless my lucky stars, if it innit the lovely Misses Brant!”

 

“Sergeant,” Susan smoothed her bangs out of her eyes and gave him a dimpled smile. “So nice to see you again.”

 

Over her shoulder, Dodger snarled loudly, lips curling back over his teeth.

 

“Easy, boyo,” McPhee warned him good-naturedly he pulled Susan smoothly to her feet.

 

She thanked him a bit breathlessly, trying not to notice she was nose-to-chest with the man as she smoothed her sweater over her belly. She was suddenly acutely aware of how ridiculous she must look, eight-and-a-half months pregnant in a bright red sweater and black leggings tucked into printed slipper boots. She hadn’t even remembered to put on actual shoes.

 

He gave her an appreciative up-and-down look, lingering a little at her breasts before he told her, “Yah look well, Misses Brant.”

 

She blushed. _These South London boys._ “Thank you, Sergeant.”

 

“Lookin’ for Brant?” he asked as she opened the back door of her sudan. Dodger lept out, glowering at McPhee as he waited patiently for Susan to clip his leash to his collar.

 

“Yes, I- it’s a surprise.”

 

“An’ I see yah’ve brought back-up.” He jutted his chin in Dodger’s direction with an amused twinkle.

 

Dodger stood at attention in front of her, watching McPhee intently and rumbling low in his chest.

 

“Dodger, hush,” she scolded softly, running her fingers along his back to smooth his hackles.

 

He spared her a backwards glance, then curled his lip at McPhee in a silent sneer. _Beat it, pal,_ it said.

 

“Nah, ‘e’s a good lad - doin’ what ‘e’s meant to.” McPhee propped his hands on his hips, giving her another surreptitious once-over as he smiled. “Shall I take yah to ‘im, then?”

 

“Actually-” She glanced up at the building, not exactly thrilled at the idea of McPhee for an escort, but not confident about her chances of getting in without him, either.

 

 _Slim-to-none_ , she guessed. “Yes. That would be wonderful, thank you. He- he doesn’t know we’re coming-”

 

He offered her his arm. “So yah said.”

 

She took it delicately, trying not to notice his bicep was thicker than her calf, or that he was flexing it for her as she explained, “It was sort of… spur-of-the-moment. He probably won’t be too thrilled…” she trailed off, confidence waning with every step.

 

_This is coconuts._

 

McPhee ushered her through the doors. “‘e’ll be tickled.”

 

She tried to picture Tom looking ‘tickled’. She couldn’t.

 

He nodded to the front desk attendant, who buzzed them through a set of plate-glass doors. It was the first time she’d come in through the front of the station, she realized.

 

“Sergeant,” the officer working the x-ray machine nodded at McPhee.

 

“Officer Deringer!” McPhee’s deep baritone seemed to vibrate in the mostly marble lobby. “‘ave yah met Misses Brant?”

 

“Brant?” Deringer cocked his head as he eyed her. “As in…”

 

McPhee nodded. “Aye, the one.”

 

“Please,” Susan waved her hand, _Don’t be silly_. “Call me Susan.”

 

Deringer motioned for the three of them to go around the metal detector. “S’a pleasure, _Susan_.” He gave her a charming smile. “Anyfin’ you need, ma’am, jus’ call on me.”

 

She tried not to roll her eyes as she smiled politely. “Ha, thank you!”

 

In the elevator, she avoided McPhee’s flirtatious smiles, pretending to study the pattern on her slipper boots. He insisted on keeping her hand tucked into his arm, telling her with a tender pat of his massive one, “Lift’s been known to buck a-time-or-two. Wouldn’t want yah losin’ yer legs.”

 

Dodger spent the entire elevator ride trying to wedge himself between them.

 

He’d gotten his snout and shoulders through when the elevator lurched to a stop.

 

“See what I mean!” McPhee clapped his arm around her waist, dragging her to his side as the doors opened. “Step lively, Misses Brant!”

 

She flinched, peeling his hand off her hip. “I think I’ve got it…”

 

If anyone they passed in the hallway thought it was strange to see the sergeant escorting a hugely pregnant woman and her enormous German Shepherd through the station, they didn’t show it. In fact, most of the other officers sent her friendly smiles and casual leers as she waddled down the corridor, McPhee shortening his considerable stride to match hers, his hand having moved to the small of her back.

 

“Gladys!” he barked amicably at the elderly woman behind the bulletproof glass at the end of the hallway.

 

 _Processing_ , the brass plate on her desk said.

 

“‘lo, Sergeant.” She glanced at Susan over the rim of her reading glasses. “Yah bookin’ this one?”

 

“ _Excuse_ me?” Susan balked, jerking Dodger’s leash by accident. The dog let out a low growl.

 

“Nah, Gladdy - she’s Brant’s girl. Comin’ tah give ‘im a surprise.” McPhee winked at Susan.

 

“Dependin’ on when’s the last time ‘e’s clapped on eyes on ‘er, I’d say it might be more of a shock, rather,” Gladys deadpanned.

 

“She’s ‘is wife, Gladdy,” McPhee rebuked gently, giving Susan a reassuring _pat-pat_ on the back as she sputtered indignantly.

 

Her very low back, Susan noted uncomfortably. She tried to edge out from under his hand as she asked, “Is Sergeant Brant here?”

 

“Finishin’ up an interview in room four,” Gladys replied without looking up from her ledger.

 

“Thanks, luv. This way, Misses Brant.” McPhee caught her by the small of her back again, guiding her to another corridor.

 

“Interview?”

 

“She means interrogation.” He nodded to a couple of officers they passed in the hallway. “Policy an’ Procedure Commi’ee felt the term was too… aggressive.” He smirked.

 

“Oh. Oh!” She suddenly stopped in her tracks. “You know, it really was a spur-of-the-moment thing-”

 

He spared her an amused half-smile as he used the full span of his hand to gently scoot her forward. Dodger trailed on his lead behind them. “Yah been sayin’ that, yeah.”

 

Susan tried to back-pedal. “-and I really don’t think it’s a good idea to interrupt Tom while he’s _interviewing_ -”

 

“Come now, for a bonnie lassie like yerself, Misses Brant?” He winked. “A man would stop ‘is ‘ole world if yah puckered yer pret’y li’le mouth and whistled for ‘im.”

 

He leaned down until he was close to her ear and rumbled, “I know I would” as he stopped abruptly in front of a door. The sign said, _Interview 4_.

 

“Sergeant McPhee!” she gasped, wriggling out of his grip and giving his hand a hard swat.

 

Chuckling, he rapped his knuckles twice on the door before opening it. “Brant, got a surprise for yah.”

 

“If it’s this cocksucker’s council,” she heard her husband say, “tell ‘im ‘e’s askin’ for a packet a’crisps and smokes. Weights, one-hundreds. Not that menthol shit, neither.”

 

That was Tom’s brand of cigarette. Her eyes rolled. _Typical._

 

Dodger’s ear perked up when he heard Tom’s voice. He pushed past McPhee into the interview room, dragging Susan on his lead behind him.

 

“Wha-what is that?!” The interviewee, a man in a sweat-stained undershirt and handcuffs, shrilled. His mouth was covered in blood from his nose.

 

“S’a dog.” Tom sat with one hip propped on the interview table, a third of a cigarette dangling from his lips. He was wiping his hands on what looked like a very expensive dress shirt.

 

Susan was starting to get the picture.

 

Dodger let out one sharp bark, _Dad!_

 

Tom clicked his tongue twice in acknowledgement. Dodger grinned, his tail thumping against Susan’s thigh.

 

Tom’s eyes cut up to hers; he pinned her with a black look. “‘ello, sweet’eart.”

 

 _Tom._ The tightness in her chest loosened and dissolved.

 

She let out a long, shaky exhale, shoulders sagging with relief. “Hi.”

 

“Susan?” Porter, with his spotless white shirt and tie pin, unfolded his long limbs and stood up from the chair across the table. His shirt sleeves were rolled up neatly over his forearms.

 

“Hey, Porter.”

 

His mouth was open, eyes darting from her to Dodger to Tom and back.

 

“What on God’s green Earth are yah doing up-and-about?” he admonished, eyeing her swollen belly as he propped his hands on his slender hips. He looked back at Tom. _How could you let this happen?_

 

Tom took a drag from his cigarette as he gave her a long up-and-down look, pausing at her slippers. He said nothing.

 

“Went outside for a smoke an’ look who I found wanderin’ round like a lost li’le lamb,” McPhee boomed behind her.

 

The muscle in Tom’s jaw ticked.

 

“Whoa, hey!” Susan held out her hand, _Hold up_. “I was not _wandering_ -”

 

“Said she came tah give yah a surprise. ‘magine mine, seein’ ‘er out there on ‘er lonesome,” McPhee continued, ignoring her. His tone and smile were boisterous, but there was something sharp-edged in both that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

 

“Yes, well,” Porter shifted uncomfortably, fingertips tapping a light rhythm into the tabletop. “Thank you, Sergeant, for delivering her.”

 

“‘course! What kind a’man would let a woman in ‘er way wander a South London police station alone?” He sent Tom a meaningful look, and then a grin at Susan that made her sick to her stomach.

 

She glanced at Tom.

 

His eyes were narrowed, lips pressed into razor-thin line. His shoulders were wide and tense, hands fisted at his sides.

 

She knew that look.

 

_Oh snap._

 

Beside her, Dodger swiveled his large head McPhee’s way and growled.

 

She heard the distant _tick-tick-tick_ of a time bomb as she quickly turned a dazzling dimpled smile on McPhee.

 

“I can’t thank you enough, Sergeant!” she chirped, trying to push him out the door.

 

 _J_ _eez Louis, what is this guy made out of?_

 

“Well, I-”

 

“You’ve been super-duper helpful!” She used her weight to give him a hard shove, right below his diaphragm. “Ok, take care!”

 

He stumbled backwards a few steps, eyes wide. “Misses Brant-”

 

She wrinkled her nose at him cutely and waved, _Buh-bye!_ Then she slammed the door.

 

“Well.” She flipped her bangs back and smoothed the wrinkles out of her sweater. “ _What_ an asshat.”

 

She jerked her thumb at the door behind her, scoffing at the criminal cuffed to the chair, “That guy was a complete bag a’dicks. Am I right?”

 

The man looked helplessly from her to Tom.

 

“She asked you a question.” Tom inclined his head towards her. Their eyes met.

 

He smirked, _Fuckin’ pain in my arse you are._

 

She smiled, _You love it._

 

The man in handcuffs was scrambling to answer, “Oh, yes ma’am, ‘e was a to’al prick, ‘e was. Good on yah, ma’am. Really, couldn’a done bet’er meself-”

 

Porter crossed and re-crossed his arms. “Am I missing something?”

 

“Yeah, ‘bout two things.” Tom took a deep drag from his cigarette - he was almost down to the filter - and sneered. “They come in a pair.”

 

Porter huffed, “Really, Brant.”

 

“You know what? I can see this is a bad time.” Susan shuffled backwards for the door, tugging Dodger along with her. He was straining at the end of his leash, eying the man handcuffed to his chair with interest. “I’ll just… see you at home-”

 

Tom flicked his cigarette butt onto the floor. “Go wait in room two. Don’t open the door til I tell yah.”

 

She yanked the leash as Dodger stretched his neck towards the criminal, sniffing. He licked his chops.

 

The man whimpered.

 

“No no, you’re working, and we should probably head back to the car-”

 

“Is that what I said?” Tom asked, enunciating clearly. He looked her straight in the eye.

 

Porter bounced nervously from foot-to-foot.

 

She sighed. _Yep, this was a bad idea._ “Ok, room two it is. See you later, alligator.”

 

“Don’t-”

 

“Open the door unless it’s you, yes. I got it.” She tugged the leash again. “Dodger, come on!”

 

Dodger ignored her, body tense in stalking position as he rumbled low in his chest.

 

“Oh, good grief. Dodger-”

 

“Oi!” Tom made a loud _clap!_ and snapped, “Leave it!”

 

Dodger flinched, ears lying flat against his head, and slunk back to Susan. He gave her a baleful look.

 

“Well, you should’a come when I called, mister,” she chided him quietly as she opened the door and nudged him with her knee into the hallway. “You know how Daddy gets when we don’t listen.”

 

_Boy, did she ever._

 

____________________________________________________________________________

 

Ten minutes later, she was fidgeting uncomfortably on a metal folding chair when Tom opened the door to interview room two.

 

Dodger, who had been investigating the corner of the room with interest, having been unclipped from his lead after she closed the door, bounded across the tile to greet him.

 

Tom took a knee, scrubbing his hands through Dodger’s mane with a gruff, “Whoa, boyo. What you doin’ ‘ere?”

 

He stood, brushing the dog hair off his hands as he asked, “Your silly batshit mum bring you ‘ere, boy? You tell ‘er that’s a bad idea? She didn’t listen, did she? Nah, she never listens.”

 

Susan huffed. “I thought we weren’t allowed to make passive-aggressive comments through the dog anymore.”

 

Really, that rule had been instituted after she’d complained to Dodger about Daddy eating with his mouth open one-too-many times.

 

_Still._

 

Tom pulled out the folding chair on the other side of the table. For a moment, she thought he was going to sit across from her, until he carried the chair around to her side.

 

As he shook a cigarette out of his pack, she asked, “Do I get a phone call?”

 

He dropped into the chair with a hollow _thunk_. Flipping his zippo open, he glanced at her. “Yah wanna play that game right now, Susan?”

 

She watched him light up. “I demand to speak to my attorney.”

 

“Ain’t no one comin’ for you, sweet’eart.” He blew a long stream of smoke out of the corner of his mouth, away from her. “S’just you, me,” he gestured across the table at Dodger, “an’ the dog.”

 

“I’m gettin’ that feelin’ - what they call it - deja vu?” He arched his eyebrow at her.

 

She held up her hands, _I surrender_. “Look, I know you don’t want me here-”

 

“Oh no.” He shook two fingers at her, cigarette clamped between them. “Don’t make this about me wantin’ you ‘ere or not.” He tapped the table. “This is about safety.” He pointed at her again. “Your safety.”

 

“I needed to see you.” She took a breath, trying not to sound so pleading this time as she said, “I need to ask you something.”

 

He reached into his back pocket and worked out his cell phone. He dropped it with a loud _clang_ onto the table. “You seen one a’these before?”

 

“Tom-”

 

He flipped it open. “Let me show you ‘ow it works-”

 

“This is important!” she huffed, rubbing her belly. In a softer tone, she added, “I got panicked, ok? You know I can’t take the pills with the baby. I just needed to see you.”

 

He seemed to chew on that for a moment, tasting for a lie. He took a deep drag from his cigarette; she could hear the end sizzling.

 

He licked his lips. “Alright. You gotta question? So ask.”

 

She looked at her hands in her lap, picking at one of her cuticles. “I was talking to Nancy this morning.”

 

“Go on.”

 

“We were talking about… the thing.”

 

“Could you be more specific?” he drawled, folding forward to rest his forearms on knees as he studied her face.

 

“The- the deal we made.” She glanced up at him. “For the tree.”

 

He sat back. “Is it?”

 

She nodded, still avoiding his eyes. How in the world was she going to ask him about-

 

“That’s why you’re ‘ere? To try an’ get out of it?” The muscle in his jaw flexed as he ashed his cigarette.

 

“No!” She shook her head emphatically. “No, that’s not what I’m saying-”

 

“I’ll take that fuckin’ tree back, Susan. I’ll burn it, I don’t give a shit about the money.” He shrugged, she could see how furious he was beneath the indifferent exterior. “You don’t wanna do it, fine. S’not a problem. But you’re not keepin’ the tree.”

 

“Oh my gosh, would you just shut up about the tree for a second?” she snapped. “Just one second, I am trying to tell you I-”

 

Gosh dangit, why was this so hard?

 

“Look,” she took a deep breath. _You can do this, Susan. Eye of the tiger._ “I want to know why this is so important to you.”

 

“It’s about respect,” he snarled. “We made a deal - you can’t always ‘ave your way.”

 

“Always have my-”

 

 _Susan, focus_.

 

She held her hands out, _Be cool._ “I don’t. Care. About. The deal. I am asking you why - ever since we’ve been together - this has been so important to you.”

 

His face scrunched in irritation. “What? A bloke can't ask for an arse poundin’ now and again without it warrantin’ an inquiry?”

 

She bit her cheeks against a smile. “I’m sure Porter’s been asking himself that all his life-”

 

“Goddamnit, Susan,” he growled.

 

“Ok, ok - I’m sorry. Is it- Nancy said it might be because I’ve never… done it before?”

 

He folded his arms over his chest. “Are you comin’ to a point or what?”

 

She took deep breath. _Just rip it off like a band aid_. “Is this about R-rick?”

 

“Rick? What’s-” He stopped, swallowed. He concentrated on his cigarette as he flicked the ash off the tip. When he looked at her again, it was with a hard expression. “What’s ‘e got to do with it?”

 

“I don’t know,” she said softly, leaning towards him over her belly. “You tell me.”

 

He took a puff from his cigarette, blowing the smoke out of his nostrils. There was a long pause, and then, “I know you still think about ‘im.”

 

He scrubbed a hand over his scalp. “The other day, you came ‘ome from the shop with a bottle of red wine. _Cabernet sauvignon_ ,” he mocked in a French accent.

 

He met her eyes. His were impossibly dark. “I don’t drink wine. And you only drink white.”

 

_The cab._

 

She closed her eyes, exhaling sharply. Her shoulders slumped.

 

“Who were yah buyin’ it for, Susan?” he asked quietly.

 

Him. “Him.”

 

It was an accident. She’d had a million different things on her mind that day, and beer had been on her shopping list. When she got to the Spirits aisle in the grocery store, she hadn’t thought about it; she’d picked up a bottle of cab and dropped it into her cart.

 

Tom nodded, more to himself than to her. “S’what I thought.”

 

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

 

His face scrunched in irritation again. He shrugged. “For what?”

 

“So we can talk about it.” She rested her hands on his knees.

 

“What the fuck are we gonna say?”

 

“How you feel.”

 

He snorted, a harsh, bitter sound. “You a shrink, now?”

 

“No.” She took the hand not holding a cigarette in both of hers. “I’m your wife. I love you.”

 

He sucked his teeth and took another pull from his Weight. Careful to blow the smoke away from her, he asked, “If you love me so much, why do yah think about ‘im still?”

 

She blinked, caught off guard by his question. “I don’t know.” She shrugged.

 

She didn't.

 

“You don’t know.” He nodded to himself as he took another drag. “Yah know what we call that? When you can’t account for the shit you’ve done? A criminal memory.”

 

She swallowed, concentrating on his hand between hers. The fury was rolling off of him in waves, and she was trying not to get pulled under. Calmly, she asked, “Don’t you ever think about your ex-wives?”

 

He snorted. “Sure. I’ve taken a particularly painful shit and I thought, _Yeah, I used to be married to Molly. What a cunt she was._ I sure as ‘ell don’t buy ‘er wine. S’a bit batty, dontcha think? Then, least she’s still alive to drink it. Buyin’ wine for a dead man, well - can’t make ‘eads or tails a’that, sweet’eart.”

 

Her chest stung. She withdrew her hands, wringing them lightly in her lap.

 

Tom was on a roll now.

 

“Yah wanna know ‘ow I feel, darlin’? Wanna talk about shit? Alright.” He came forward, bracing his forearms on his knees again and ducking his head to catch her eye.

 

“When I see you lookin’ at me like that, like you’re seein’ ‘im standin’ there in front a’yah- Well, I feel like shit, don’t I? Because maybe I didn’t love you first, or best even, but I’ve loved yah, Susan. I ‘ave. You can’t say I ‘aven’t.”

 

“Tom-”

 

“S’not enough, though, is it? Nah, not for you. You ask for a light-” He jabbed his thumb at himself. “I set myself on fire.” He pointed to her again. “You say it’s not bright enough. It’s a simple fuckin’ request, Susan-”

 

 _Request?_ Her head tilted.

 

“Don’t come down ‘ere, I said. Not when I’m workin’, and not by yourself. What do you do? Give me the finger and tell me to sit on it an’ rotate, that’s what.”

 

_Wait, what?_

 

“Um, Tom? I was with you on the whole Rick thing, buuuut I’m not super-sure I’m following-”

 

He stood and strode around the table as he pointed at her again. “And who would find you but that arsehole McPhee - oh that’s a two-fer-one for ‘im. Bastard son of a bitch ‘ates me, and ‘e’s been cookin’ for you ever since yah showed up ‘ere in that fuckin' dress-”

 

“Oh come on, not the dress again!”

 

“You ‘ave any idea what part a’town this is, Susan? Or the kind a’people are in ‘ere? ‘ate to break it to you, sweet’eart, but it’s a certain type a’copper who can make it in South London-”

 

No kidding. Judging by the way her husband was foaming at the mouth, she’d say it took a pretty deranged one.

 

“-and ‘e’s not the sort a’bloke I want escortin’ my pregnant wife around. Jaysus fuckin’ Christ, Susan, you’re not a Goddamn spy anymore. S’innit a game - this is the fuckin’ streets.” He slammed his hand on the table for emphasis.

 

Beside her, Dodger lifted his head where he was lying on the tile and growled. _Cool it, Dad._

 

Susan rubbed her temples. “Tom, honey, I think you’re deflecting right now-”

 

“Oh no. Don’t give me that Oprah-mumbo-jumbo bullshit. This is about respect-”

 

“I really think what you’re angry about is Rick-”

 

“Stop!” He slammed his fist into the table again. “Stop sayin’ that fuckin’ name. I am sick and tired-” He came around the table.

 

Susan watched calmly as he snatched up the metal folding chair he’d been sitting in.

 

_Oh boy, here we go._

 

“This is going to be loud,” she told Dodger, bending over her belly to cup her hands over his ears.

 

Tom was stomping across the room to the opposite wall, snarling to himself, “-of ‘earin’ ‘is Goddamn name.”

 

He choked up his grip, raised the chair over his head, and swung.

 

She braced herself for the loud metallic _whack!_ as the folding chair connected with brick concrete.

 

“Rick!” _Whack!_ “Rick!” _Whack!_ “Rick!” _Whack!_   “Rick! Rick! Rick!” _Whack whack whack!_

 

“That’s it, baby,” she called. “Just let it out. Let it all out.”

 

“Think you’re bettah than me?” _Whack!_ “Coz you’re from Derbyshire?” _Whack!_ “Yah fuckin’ nancy ponce!” _Whack!_

 

Maybe she should get Tom a punching bag for Christmas. One of the big ones. They could hang it in the guest room.

 

There was a grinding _crunch_ as the cement gave under the force of his blows. “Sick - of the - fuckin’- dis - respect!” _Whack whack whack!_

 

Hm, maybe not the guest room. The garage.

 

“-kinda bloke let’s a woman in ‘er way wander-” _Whack!_ “Cocksuckin’ wanker.” _Whack!_ “Think that cow listens to me?” _Whack!_

 

One of them would have to park in the driveway, though. It should really be her; Tom left so early in the mornings, and she didn’t trust him to wait for his windows to defrost before he took off.

 

She noticed he had thrown the chair across the room. It was crumpled like an aluminum can, lying in a heap on the tile. Not to mention the gaping hole in the wall behind him; she could see where he’d hammered to the rebar.

 

He was breathing hard, and sweating, hands on his hips as he tried to catch his breath. There was a fine layer of concrete dust on his dark street clothes.

 

He scrubbed his hands over his face and looked at her.

 

“How yah feel, tiger?”

 

“Better,” he panted, glancing around at the wreckage. He nodded. “I feel better.”

 

“Super." She cocked her head, _Come here._ “Can we sit and talk like adults, now?”

 

He sauntered across the room, rolling out his shoulders and stretching his neck as he smirked, "I would, but I don’t ‘ave a chair now, do I?”

 

"Ha! Zinger!" She smiled at him, all dimples.

 

He finally grinned as he reached down and pulled her easily to her feet. Plopping down in her chair, he tugged her into his lap. She landed with a soft, “Umph!”

 

“Tahm! You’re covered in plaster.” She swept her hair over her opposite shoulder and checked her sweater for dust.

 

_Gah-ross._

 

“Oh, ‘scuse me. Don’t wanna get anythin’ on your royal ‘ouseshoes-”

 

“They’re booties,” she huffed, miffed at being called out.

 

“Yah look nutters walkin’ round in those things.”

 

“That would explain why I’m with you, wouldn’t it?”

 

He smirked. “Thought it was coz I ‘ave a big cock.”

 

She tipped her head back. “I can _not_ deal with you right now.”

 

“Don’t be so dramatic.” He patted her ass.

 

“Me?! I’m dramatic? Honey.” She looked at the hole in the wall. “Hon-ney. You are the Dalai Lama of Drama.”

 

“Explains why I’m with you, donnit?” He waggled his eyebrows at her, _What now?_

 

She shook the sleeve of her sweater down over her hand and used it to wipe a smudge of dust off his nose.

 

“I’m sorry I came here without asking,” she told him softly.

 

He patted her ass again. “No you’re not.”

 

She wound her arm around his neck, trying not to cringe when she felt the damp through her sweater sleeve. With her other hand, she toyed with the button on his sweater. “I needed to see you. I just... needed to make sure.”

 

His brow furrowed. “Make sure what?”

 

“That you’re real," she said in a small voice, concentrating on tracing the lines in his face.

 

_One of us has to be real._

 

He laid his large hand over her belly. “Oh, I’m real alright. An’ so are you.”

 

Her eyes pricked.

 

“Do you promise?” she whispered, licking her lips to hide the wobble in them.

 

He smoothed her hair back from her eyes. “Yeah, I promise.”

 

She sniffled, blinking at the tears clinging to her lashes. He thumbed them away as they rolled down her cheeks.

 

"Come on," he chided, bouncing her lightly on his knee. "None a'that now."

 

He cupped the back of her head, pulling her down for a kiss; she could taste cigarettes and sweat and plaster dust as his mouth moved against hers.

 

She touched her forehead to his as they pulled apart. “I’m hungry.”

 

He bounced her again. “Whatcha want?”

 

“Lasagna.” She plucked at some of the larger flakes of cement on his shoulder, adding shyly, “And a milkshake.”

 

The corners of his lips quirked downward as he considered it. “I can do that.”

 

She glanced again at the hole in the wall as he helped her to her feet. “Are they going to take that out of your check?”

 

That got a laugh out of him, _Let ‘em try._

 

“Nah, we’ll say ‘e did it.” He jerked his head in the direction of room four. “Where’s the leash?”

 

She handed it to him.

 

Tom crouched and whistled. “Come on, boyo.”

 

Dodger stood patiently while Tom clipped his lead, grinning like a lunatic as his tail swish side-to-side.

 

“Smart move, bringin’ ‘im.” Tom nodded to her.

 

“Well, my pitbull was at work, so…” She batted her lashes at him.

 

He stepped up, growling at her.

 

“Down boy,” she scolded, then bit her lip as she remembered what he did to her the last time she said that.

 

Dodger cocked his head, confused.

 

“Oh just you wait, darlin’,” Tom assured her darkly.

 

“But not in the Buick.” She held up her hand. “I just had it detailed. Again.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Lawd, ya'll. This is... this is just... this is anal sex. Straight. Up. If you do not fancy that, for the love of *God*, do not read this.  
> Otherwise... er, enjoy?  
> **hides face**

“I really am sorry, Susan.”

“Aw, Nance.” Susan’s expression softened as she shifted her phone from one ear to the other. “No listen, I’m sorry. I completely overreacted-”

“You had every right to. I was being an insensitive ass-”

“Nancy!” Susan scolded in a hushed tone. Hunching over, she scanned another shelf. “You were not.”

“Are you alright, Susan? I mean really alright?” She could hear the worry in Nancy’s voice.

She straightened and stroked her hand over her belly, trying to smooth out her nerves as she promised, “I am. Tom and I talked about it at lunch and- After the baby, I’m going to see someone.”

“You mean like a therapist?” Nancy asked.

“Mh-hm.”

“Well, that’s surprisingly evolved for Tom, isn’t it?”

Susan snorted, waving her hand dismissively. “I’m a woman. And American. I get a pass on the whole stiff-upper-lip stuff.”

“You’re his heart,” Nancy said like,  _ Silly girl. _ “That’s why you get a pass.”

Her chest panged. “Nance-ee.”

She remembered Tom smirking down at her once in a subway station, telling her,  _ S’your world, sweet’eart. I’m just ‘ere to make sure everyone pays rent. _

Nancy hesitated. “Are we alright?”

“We’re perfect,” Susan assured her warmly.

There was a comfortable pause, and then Nancy cleared her throat. “Now then, enough emoting. We’re on a mission.”

Susan winced.  _ Don’t remind me. _

“I’m ready; read me another.”

“Okey dokey, let’s see…” Giving the shelf another once-over, Susan selected a box.

“Oh, ok listen to this one.” She hugged her cell phone between her ear and shoulder and read in a smooth imitation of an infomercial, “Nature’s Wash Extra Cleansing Solution with tropical breeze fragrance will leave you feeling fresh and exotic.”

An image of herself in a Chiquita Banana costume popped into her mind.

_ Oh for Pete’s sake. _

“Now that’s just ridiculous.” She could hear the smile in Nancy’s voice as she asked, “How can your asshole feel exotic?”

Susan clapped a hand over her mouth to smother her snicker.

“No really, I’m asking: what qualifies as an exotic-feeling asshole? If you put your ear up to it, can you hear the ocean? Like one of those seashells - oh, what are they called?”

A patron further down the  _ Feminine Care _ aisle sent Susan a disapproving look at her loud, “Ha!”

“Sorry,” she whispered with a sheepish smile.

“Maybe it’s more pleasant for your ass if it can pretend it’s at the beach,” Nancy was saying conversationally.

“Nancy!” Susan hissed, dimples on overdrive as she fought another guffaw. “Could you not!”

“Sorry!” Nancy sang in a tone that said she was enjoying herself tremendously. “Alright, read me the next one.”

“Oh, now this one is called Summer’s Day Sweet Romance, specially formulated to give you a deep and hygienic cleanse that is fragrance- and taste-free… Taste-free?” Her nose wrinkled. “Why would it matter if it’s taste-free?”

“I’m sure it’s for the same reason some people buy the green NyQuil. They like the taste of ass.”

“Oh. Oh!” Susan dropped the box as if it might suddenly bite her. “Jiminy Christmas Nancy, shut up!”

Nancy cackled gleefully.

There’s no way Tom would want to do that, right? She tried to suppress a full-body shudder as she imagined him pressing his tongue into her- “That is disgusting. Who- who does that?”

“Probably Tom!” Nancy hooted.

“God?” Susan looked up to the drugstore ceiling tiles. “I promise I will never ask for another Christmas tree ever again, just please don’t let that man put his tongue up my butt-”

Nancy was howling now.

“I’m serious,” Susan mewled, covering her eyes with her hand. She peered between her fingers at the box by her foot, doubtful she could bend over her belly to pick it up. Sighing, she pulled two from the shelf and put them in her basket.

Where was the mouthwash?

____________________________________________________________________________

“You can do this, Susan.” She braced her hands on the lip of the sink and looked her reflection square in the eye. “You’re a warrior. Eye of the tiger.”

She pedalled her legs back and forth, cringing a little as she tried to adjust to the cool, overly-clean sensation in her-

_ Crying Pete. _

“Ok Susan, you got this.” She took a deep breath, running her hands over her pink satin nightie. “It’s go-time.”

Cracking open the bathroom door, she peered out into the bedroom, looking for him on the bed, and then near the bedroom door.

Nothing. 

Strange. Where did he-

“Lookin’ for somethin’?”

She jumped and shrieked.

_ Tom. _

Wrenching the door open all the way, she glowered at his chuckle. “Dang it, Tom! That is  _ not _ funny!”

“You talkin’ to yourself in there?” he asked as his eyes swept over her.

“No,” she huffed. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, pointedly ignoring the way her stomach dipped as he stepped up with a sharp inhale, hands sliding up her belly to cup her breasts. 

“Look at you.”

She blushed. “I was feeling Pretty in Pink.”

“You ready, then?” he rumbled, reaching around her to stroke her ass.

Her cheeks clenched involuntarily. “Wha-I- ready?” Tilting her chin haughtily, she tried to square her shoulders back. Not an easy feat when they were pressed chest-to-chest, Tom’s broad hands slip-sliding over her satin nightie as he felt behind her for the hem. “Pfft. I- I was born ready. I am ready, spaghetti. The question-“ She faltered as he hiked her nightie up over her ass. “The question is are you ready?” She poked him in the shoulder. “Because I’m ready when you are. Stick-a-fork-in-me ready. Let’s get ready to rumble. Ready or not, here I-”

“Susan?” He was already starting to rasp as he raked his fingers over the delicate lace of her cream-colored panties.

“Yeah?” she breathed, fighting to keep her eyes open against the sensation.

“You’re killin’ me with the yakkin’, sweet’eart.” He worked his fingers under the waistline of her panties, over her bare skin, towards her crease. She felt her knees start to buckle and flinched. “Relax. I ain’t gonna ‘urtcha,” he soothed, accent thicker than usual as he kneaded her firmly.

She chewed her lip, watching him doubtfully from under her bangs. His pupils were blown wide, eyes narrowed as they wandered over her face down to where her tits were pressed up against him. His jaw was clenched, muscle flexing as he breathed harshly through his nose. It reminded her of the bulls on Pappy’s farm, stamping their massive hooves and snorting right before they mounted a dairy cow.

Not a comforting image.

“Wanna lie down?”

“Yeah, sure.” She nodded. “Good idea. That’s- that’s a good starting place. On the bed?”

She could hear the impatient edge in his tone as he drawled, “What, yah wanna fuck on the floor?”

“You could just say, Yes, Tom,” she huffed, swatting at his arms away as she turned towards the bed.

“Touch-y, madam,” he smirked, giving her a light smack as she waddled the short distance across the bedroom.

She planted her hands on the mattress and hefted herself up to sit on the edge. She glanced down at her huge belly, in the approximate place where her feet were dangling off the floor, her toes skimming the rug. She kicked her feet. “A little help?”

He grinned as he sauntered over to her. With a well-practiced air, she draped her arm across his shoulders as he stooped and caught her under the knees, swinging her legs up onto the bed with a, “Ho!”

She rolled onto her side and worked her knees under her until she could crawled to the center, feeling the bed dip behind her as Tom climbed on. Reaching with one hand behind her, she pinched the hem of her panties between her fingers and tugged them down.

“What’s all this?”

Looking back at him over her shoulder, past the swell of her ass, she pawed her hair out of her eyes with one hand. “Isn’t this-” she pressed back and wiggled her ass, “what we’re doing?”

_ Gol-ly. _ Did he want an engraved invitation?

The muscle in his jaw jumped as he inhaled sharply through his nose. Fingers spread wide, he smoothed his large hands over her ass and squeezed.

Her lashes fluttered.  _ Feels so good. _

She went down on her forearms as he hooked his fingers into her panties and worked them down around her thighs. Another deep inhale, and then, “Thas it. Get it ‘igher.”

She pressed her shoulders and breasts into the mattress, feeling the baby shift forward in her womb. Her hand cradled her belly.

“Jus’ like that.” He lifted and separated her asscheeks, jiggling them. She could feel his breath on her skin.

_ Oh boy. _

She closed her eyes.  _ You can do this, Susan. Cool as a cucumber. _

She jumped a little when she felt his lips on her cheek, blowing a breath of relief into the comforter as she realized it was nowhere near her pucker. He mouthed and nipped at her flesh, sucking hard enough to leave marks.

“Like that?”

She nodded, then yelped in surprise when he gave her a loud smack on the other cheek.

“Do you like that, I asked,” he repeated, enunciating clearly.

“Yes,” she shouted into the comforter.

His fingers trailed along the insides of her thighs and traced the seam of her slit. He parted her with a soft, “Fuck. Look a’that, tight li’le cunt you ‘ave.”

Her cheeks flushed. She pressed herself back into his hand, feeling his finger sink inside her up to the knuckle. She sucked her tongue.

“Fuckin’ wet you are.” His breath was warm on the soft curls of her sex as he panted. He withdrew his finger, ignoring her muffled whine, and parted her cheeks wide as he ducked his head and licked her.

_ Holy guacamole. _ “Uhh-nuh.”

He pressed her ass up and forward, tilting her hips to give him more access to her mound. She felt her weight shift further into her shoulders as he held her asscheeks apart with his fingers and her slit open with his thumbs. His nose pressed into the tender skin right below her pucker as he tongued her clit. Her fingers curled in the comforter. “Ho-oh my God-”

“Tom, Tom, Ta-ah-ahm-“ she moaned when he found the little dip and flicked. Ass high and spread, her tummy tucked in against her knees and her face pressed into the covers, he lapped at her cunt, lashing and feathering and flicking until she came so hard she shrieked.

“Ok ok ok!” Her body shook. She held onto the comforter for dear life, panting and trembling as her core convulsed with aftershocks. 

She heard a plastic snap, then a sucking sound as Tom squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his fingers. At the first soft press of his finger pad against her pucker, she clenched her eyes and tensed. 

“Shh, easy.” He dotted soft, tender kisses along her ass cheeks and the small of her back as his fingertips circled her entrance. It felt slick and gentle, and slightly pleasant. Her body started to go slack. “That’s it, that’s my girl. Open up, Suzy. Just like that…”

His finger pressed in up to the first knuckle. She tensed again, whimpering as her muscles locked around it.

“Sh-sh-sh, you’re alright.” He teased her ass with shallow strokes, circling his fingertip at her entrance to stimulate the sensitive nerves there. She wriggled, whimpering in pleasure this time. “You like that?”

Her core clenched involuntarily at the husky, familiar phrase. She nodded. “Yes.”

Slowly, gently, he pumped in and out, waiting until her body had gone completely soft before he worked in a second finger. 

Her eyes moved behind her eyelids at the deep stretch. It felt strange and hot and so, so good. “Tom…”

“You want it?” he rasped, mouthing and squeezing her ass cheeks as his fingers scissored inside her. She nodded frantically. “Say you want it.”

She blushed into the covers. “I want it…”

His fingers hooked and pressed against her walls, massaging back and forth as he chided roughly, “That’s not ‘ow you get what you want.”

_ Goddamn him. _ “Please, Tom!”

“No-” He dug a little harder, just enough to make her muscles flutter around his fingers and her eyes roll up into the back of her head. “Say it, or I won’t.”

She cradled her belly and pushed up off the bed, until she was braced on one hand, and looked back at him over her shoulder. His eyes were dark, his brow creased, every muscle in his arms and neck taut as he watched and waited. Her heart squeezed.

_ This _ was her husband, her lover, the father of her baby. This was her Tom.

“I love you,” she said.

He lurched forward and kissed her, a hot, sloppy kiss with his two fingers still knuckle-deep inside her ass. Their tongues tangled between their open mouths. 

“Fuck my ass, Tom,” she whispered, shoving aside her shame and self-consciousness. Nancy was right - Tom was her husband. Nothing about their love could ever be wrong. “Fuck me, Tom. I wanna feel you in me. Please baby, I want it so bad.”

He snarled, past the point of intelligible words. and pushed her over onto her back. She flopped against the bed, her mouth open, hair tangled across her face, and watched him slather nearly half the bottle of lube onto his huge cock before he scrambled to kneel between her legs. He grabbed the thick, dimpled backs of her thighs, slipping with so much lubricant, and hefted her legs up and back, so that her hips lifted and her belly shifted forward and her tits were practically under her chin.

She felt a rush of slick as her cunt clenched. She loved him like this - fierce, dominant. Tom. The head of his cock pressed against her tight pucker and her breath sped up. She panted like a bitch in heat for him as he pushed inside her.

“Oh-uhn, God, Tom… fuck, Tom…”

The stretch was unreal. It ached, burned, and hurt all at the same time. His shaft seemed to go on forever, sliding and sliding inside her until finally -  _ finally _ \- he hit hilt. He folded over her, his arms braced under her knees and his hips holding hers off the mattress with her big, swollen belly crushed between them. He rasped and snorted above her, sweat dripping off his shaved head onto her cheeks and chest.

“Fuck it, baby, fuck it,” she pleaded, her face pinched with pain and pleasure as he started to piston his hips. She could feel every vein, every ridge in his shaft, and the shape and flare of his big mushroom head as he poled in and out of her. She whined and keened and wailed, pulling at his big, broad shoulders, urging him, “Harder harder harder harder…”

She was real. Perfectly, painfully, incandescently real. He made her real.

“Come in me.” She bore down on him, doubling the burning ache, making her own head tip back and her eyes squeeze shut as he groaned loudly above her. The tearing pressure was too much, but she didn’t want him to slow down, to take longer. She wanted him to come now. “Come on, baby. Come in me. Oh-huhn, God! I wanna feel your hot load inside my ass, Tom. Uhnn-huh...”

“Jaysus fuckin’-” he growled through gritted teeth. He tripled his pace, pounding into her so hard she saw shoots of light behind her eyelids. Her back bowed as much as it could in the small space between them. She felt his cock start to swell as his thrusts deepened and shortened, anticipating the familiar jerk and pump as he came inside her. Her muscles clenched, she jerked and came with a surprised shout. 

Her orgasm was fast and brilliant, making her cunt spasm and her ass ratchet like a vice around his cock as she gasped, “Fuck God Tom-”

He grinned above her, his sharpest, toothiest, most malevolent smile, then he rocked up into her and came. His body twitched and jerked, teeth grinding so hard she could hear them as he shot stream after stream inside her. 

They were both trembling as he withdrew and laid down beside her. The hot dribbling rush of semen and lubricant felt strange and a little embarrassing, but she was too tired to do anything more than roll onto her side and out of the wet spot, into Tom’s arms.

His entire body was beaded with sweat. Wrapping his arms around her, he coughed twice and rasped, “How’s that for a ‘appy Christmas, aye?” She could hear the grin in his voice.

Smiling, she closed her eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, dolls! I've missed you. Have a happy holiday, and a sensational New Year.
> 
> Love, Pastel

**Author's Note:**

> For Meggycakes, who feels my pain when making a business case for Christmas decorations. :>
> 
> I was thinking about writing a part two, to - ya know - spell it out. Thoughts?


End file.
